by David Sapp Jim and I certainly weren’t colleagues. He finished a pharmacy degree, and I was an art school dropout – and couldn’t afford Kenyon. I drove a twenty-year-old Ford. He had a flashy new sportscar. He counted pills. I stocked shelves. He said, “That’s a pretty big word…
by Phibby Venable blue ridges, path loose with mud,a halo of fog grayingin a new daythe old womanlaid out her firethe night before,in the rusted woodstove,that still spokeout flames each morning,and sang out cold,as she listened, trembling the newspaper toward warmthe old woman, always in smoke and daydreams, worn outand…
by James Croal Jackson I found you at the bottomof the stairs looking up to whatI thought was me but past metoward the white ceiling thatconceals the sky where wehave watched the birds oftengo to a better place whenthe temperature dropsI held you in my handsstill warm in your finalmoments…